attempting to bear witness


Why is it that great sunsets usually end up lousy paintings and streets you wouldn’t willingly set foot in, result in great photographs ? What is it that makes our art so perverse? Why are we attracted to villains? Can you even say what makes us human – or is that really the greatest of our assumptions, the preposerous premise on which all premises are based?


I am not mama bear
erasing her tracks
ensuring that when
her cubs descend
she will be out of reach,
leaving hunger to teach.

Although like my friend Urso,
my nails are not retractible
and I am an upright, omnivorous
plantigrade mammal…
I do my damnedest
to make the tracks visible
clear for generations not yet here.

The business of life
or so it would appear
to me, is to ensure
that one day we become
fully human, and I fear
hunger is altogether
the wrong instructor.




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